Rainbows and Butterflies
by Scribbler
Summary: [one shot] Terra, food, the spaces between missions. Five things that might have happened. Five points in time.


Disclaimer – Well, ah do disclaim. These here characters belong to DC and KidsWB, not little 'ol me.

A/N – Noooo idea how this came to be. Really. I got stuck while writing a bigger project (which Season Three has completely ruined the continuity of, I might add), and typed a few things that came to mind in an effort to clear some cobwebs. It wasn't supposed to be more than a drabble, really, but... well, Rome was only a house with a pump and a donkey at one point.

The 'five things that never happened' genre has been used in many fandoms, and by many writers far greater than me. Still, I decided to have a go, and link them all by the vague themes of 'superheroes doing non-superheroic things' and 'food and drink'. Clearly, I have a food fixation. And I like Terra. So sue me.

Influences – _The Code of the Samurai_ by Nancy Holder, _How to Be Good_ by Nick Hornby, _Stargirl_ by Jerry Spinelli, and _Looks Can Kill _by Cameron Dokey.

Feedback – **_Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease!_**

**__**

* * *

**__** Rainbows and Butterflies

By Scribbler

August 2004

* * *

_It's not always rainbows and butterflies,_

_It's compromise that moves us along._

- 'She Will Be Loved' By Maroon 5.

* * *

1. 

Here's how it works: you walk into a small room and the door shuts behind you. You realise it's locked, there's no other exit, and you spend a while panicking. You don't like being trapped; don't like not having an option in what's happened to you. So you look around for a window, a key, something to get you out of there. You test the boundaries of the room, measuring how much space you have to move and whether the walls are solid enough to keep you confined. And when you finally understand that there _is_ no way out, that this is what you have from now on, you start to make the best of what you've got.

And you know what? You realise that it's not quite as bad as you thought. There's a chair, which isn't that uncomfortable, and a TV with good reception, a few books, a lamp, even a fully stocked refrigerator. You know you won't starve in this room; you won't tear your hair out from boredom, and you won't have to deal with the problems outside it because the door protects you. Sure, it keeps you locked in, but it also keeps the bad things locked out.

And after a while you start to think of things in a different light.

_I can do this,_ you think. _I can live this life._

But there's always uncertainty, lurking in the back of you mind; always an_ I think _to tack on the endAnd you can try to ignore it, but it'll still be there in the morning, after dinner, in a minute, later.

_I can do this. I can live this life. I think._

Terra smiles at Beast Boy over her bowl of cereal. "Pass the milk?"

"Dairy or soy?"

"Are you trying to bleed?"

"Cow juice it is, then."

* * *

2. 

"I'm bored," Terra mumbles around a mouthful of Twinkie.

She and Beast Boy are sitting across from each other on the couch, the remnants of a major food event littering the cushions between them. Most of it involves sugar of some description, though there are several big green V logos that denote the vegan line the local supermarket just started selling.

"It's not boredom," Beast Boy informs her. "You've had too much sugar. You're in a coma." He picks up an unopened package of cupcakes, turns it over, and then sets it down again. "And I think I'm not too far behind you."

Terra bobs her head. "That's good to know. I'd hate to think I was wallowing in sweetened unconsciousness all on my lonesome."

"Well, sweetened unconsciousness is better than the unsweetened kind. Or bitter."

"Can you get bitter unconsciousness?"

He pauses, thinking about it. "I suppose so. If you ate enough acidic foods."

She licks the last of the pastry off her fingers and wonders where she left her gloves. They might be in her bedroom, but they have a habit of wandering off and turning up in the oddest places. "Like pickles?"

"Sure. Like pickles. Or chutney."

"I've never eaten chutney."

"It's nice. Sorta... bitter."

They look at each other for a long moment.

"You know, when I joined the Titans, I thought there'd be a lot more... Titan-y stuff involved," Terra admits.

Beast Boy shrugs. "Hey, you take the good with the bad. Can't have action all the time."

"Yeah." She draws her knees up to her chest, rocking back and forth contemplatively, and with very real risk of falling off the couch. "I knew that. I just... baptism of fire, is all. I kinda got the impression it was all go, all the time."

"'Titans go'?"

She nods. "That slogan is a bit of false advertising, don't you think? 'Titans _go'_! Not 'Titans _sit'_! Or, 'Titans _vegetate'_! Or, 'Titans _get real bored'_!"

Beast Boy taps his chin. She wonders what he'd look like with a beard, and then wonders whether he's even capable of growing facial hair. Without, you know, all of a sudden _poof!_ and there it is.

There are many things she doesn't know about him, and a lot more she'd like to know, just for the sake of knowing. Like, whether he likes chocolate or gummy candies, who his favourite actress is, and what the last book he read was. Pointless, worthless stuff, of no use to anyone or anything but satisfying her curiosity. And she wonders if this is what friendship feels like – wanting to know things about a person just for the sake of knowing them.

"I don't know. That's the same as saying we should shout 'Titans _put yourselves in danger_', just to appease the masses."

Terra raises her eyebrows. "The masses? So this _is _a marketing scam after all."

Beast Boy slaps his forehead, leaving a smudge of chocolate in his eyebrow and sugar granules in his hair. They glint like glass fragments in the overhead lighting. "Oh no, you've seen through our clever plan! Now we have to make sure you don't talk to the competition. And you know what that means." He rubs his hands and leans forward, squinting like a bad guy from a silent movie and twirling an imaginary moustache. "An enforced twelve-hour marathon of Charmed episodes, with you tied to your chair in a plastic room suspended in zero-gravity."

Terra laughs. It's an easy feat around BB. It's like he reaches down into her and pulls up the funny side of life. "No, anything but that! Hey, wait – no bathroom breaks?"

"Well, okay. Maybe bathroom breaks, 'cause, you know, otherwise it'd be all icky and stuff."

Terra gives him a lopsided grin and rests her chin on her fist. "You'd make such a stupendous villain, BB, you know that?" Then she straightens her legs and shakes out her hair to make sure there's no food in it. "Listen, you wanna go do some training, or something?"

He glances at his wrist, then at the clock on the wall. "I think Robin's already outside doing something martial-arty. Ju-jitsu, maybe?"

"Or karate."

"Or judo."

"Or..." Terra blinks. "I don't know any more martial arts names. I feel unintelligent."

Beast Boy shrugs again. "Doesn't matter. Odds are he'd be able to do anything we could think of."

"Yeah. Guess so. So, how about the gym?"

He shakes his head. "Nu-uh. Cy and Star are running one of their sims. _Gloop Monsters of the Delta Quadrant_, or something. Trust me; you do _not_ want to get involved in any of that. I just finished peeling myself off the wall from the last time I tried."

"Ouch." Terra winces. "Sounds painful."

"You have no idea."

The two of them sit in silence for a second, staring at the pile of candy wrappers between them. Their minds are obviously wandering, because empty candy wrappers can't possibly be that captivating. Terra's head is bowed, but she raises her eyes, watching BB's expression.

His face is like a canvas, the person behind it a painter who likes to use wide strokes. Everything about him is big and loud and overstated. Sometimes Terra thinks his breathing causes hurricanes somewhere in the world. Yet for all her laughter, and all his jokes and larger-than-life antics, it's the quiet moments that she prefers – those occasions when time seems to moves slower than usual, and he's not really concentrating, so she can see his facial muscles twitch from one honest emotion to another.

They spend a few minutes like that. Then the door swishes open and they jump apart, like they've been doing something inappropriate. Beast Boy even blushes a little.

Raven arches an eyebrow at them, but says nothing. She crosses the room to the tune of throats clearing and nervous giggles. When she turns the kettle on, the sound of the clicking switch fills the room louder than a one-man band. She moves from one cupboard to another, movements too elegant for such a mundane task as making tea – which is all she uses the kitchen for outside mealtimes. The china cup clinks against the silver spoon kept just for her, and when she's done she carries her herbal brew towards the staircase to the roof, levitating so as not to spill any between steps.

When she's gone, Terra looks at Beast Boy. He looks back at her, and for a brief second she's convinced they're both going to erupt in nervy laughter that they will attribute to the edible wreckage they've eaten.

However, they don't. The moment passes, and Beast Boy breaks his gaze to lean his head back and stare at the ceiling. "So... you wanna do something? Like maybe..."

"Watch some grass grow?" Terra suggests.

He nods, hands behind his head. "Totally."

* * *

3. 

Terra and Beast Boy are rooting through the bottom of the fridge, attempting to make salad from the vegetation they find there.

Cyborg observes them from a stool on the other side of the counter. A newspaper is spread in front of him, but he's not reading it, and he knows he'll have to move when they emerge and need the workspace. He just doesn't feel like going yet.

"Uh guys. Speaking as the last person to go grocery shopping, I didn't buy that. I think it grew there."

Terra looks at the unidentifiable lime green mush nestling in the corner and working its way up to the grid above it. "Ew. That's sick. And I say that from the perspective of having battled broccoli monsters, which are totally gross in their own way."

Cyborg raises an eyebrow. "Broccoli monsters?"

"Uh-huh. Poison Ivy plus pissed off plus vegetable fete. Not pretty."

"You were in Gothem?" Beast Boy asks as he lifts a large ceramic bowl out of the cupboard and looks around for something else. "Yo, Cy, salad tongs?"

"Third drawer on the right."

"Thanks."

Terra shrugs. "I didn't tangle with her there, but yeah, sure I was in Gothem. I've been all over, remember?"

"Yeah. You go where the wind takes you." Cyborg smiles and taps the metal side of his head. "I remember. Digital playback. I could burn a DVD of that whole conversation if I wanted."

Her grin never falters. "You really can do a lot with that hardware, huh?"

"Everything but make a good cup of coffee."

"You got MP3 facilities?"

"Yup."

"Surround sound?"

"Uh-huh."

"Dynamic Base Boost?"

"Like a demo?"

"No!" Beast Boy holds a hand it the air and waggles it, his face deep in a lower cubbyhole. "No demo! Sensitive hearing, remember?"

"So shift to something that can't hear so good." Cyborg shrugs. "Terra?"

She gives him an apologetic smile. "No thanks. I'll take the authority of my esteemed colleague and say I value my ears without tinatus."

He shrugs and ticks his eyes downwards. "No biggie." He likes to show off, but there's time enough for that later. For now, he is revelling in the respite between call-outs. Now is not a time for arguments. Now is a time for relaxing and taking stock.

Speaking of which...

"Hey, did you know Lex Corp.'s share values have gone up again?"

"How would we know that, Cy? You've got the newspaper. And only you can stomach the stock market pages."

"Funny, BB. But seriously, Lex Corp.? Please tell me I'm not the only one hearing alarm bells."

Terra plunks a punnet of tomatoes on the counter and begins pulling off the stalks. She arranges them in a haphazard pile next to her elbow, accidentally sweeping them onto the floor when she turns around. "Oh fu... dge it. You mean the Titans do political stuff, too?"

Cyborg shakes his head. "Not really."

"Kinda difficult to be politically active when you're not old enough to vote."

"Thank you for you valuable input, BB," he says in a tone that indicates his true meaning is 'go away'. He looks back at Terra, who appears to be interested in what he has to say. It makes a welcome change to get that look when the words 'who wants to' and 'go for a drive' or 'play video games' are not in the offing. "We're kinda like the SWAT team – you call us when you need action and conventional measures just ain't gonna cut it. But that don't mean we can't get interested in prospective stuff, too. Something _some _of us would be wise to note." His voice lifts on the last sentence.

Beast Boy holds a hand to his chest. "You talking about me?"

"I never said that."

"But you meant it."

"What, you're telepathic now?"

"I am many things," Beast Boy says, dead serious. "Things you can only imagine, my dear Cyborg." He leans forward, adopting the husky tone of horror movie narrators. "Things from your deepest, darkest, most stomach-churning, puke-inducing nightmares."

"You say that like it's breaking news. Hell, you do that when I see you bumbling around first thing in the morning."

The look falls from BB's face and smashes on the counter. "Aw, man. Spoil my fun, why doncha?"

He and Terra spend the next ten minutes flinging pieces of salad around, most of which ends up in the bowl. Terra grimaces when she discovers one of lettuce heads is infested with greenfly, and when Cyborg returns from putting it in the trash chute he finds that both he and his paper have been ousted onto the couch. He keeps up a running commentary from there, resolving to ask Robin about Lex Corp.'s new stock tendencies, until Terra and Beast Boy come over with the fruits of labours, a bottle of balsamic vinegar, and some low fat dressing. Beast Boy also carries with him a bottle of caffeine-free diet cola and three glasses.

The glasses are the freebies they got when a company in Metropolis offered them contracts for merchandising the Teen Titan name. Little Ravens and Starfires have been painted on each in a variety of poses.

Needless to say, Raven hated them on sight.

Cyborg screws up his face. "Aw, man. It ain't bad enough I gotta deal with the smell of burnt tofu, now you're gonna deny me my caffeine buzz, too?"

"There's been too much sugar around this place lately," Beast Boy says as he unscrews the cap. The coke bubbles up at alarming speed and sprays him with brown froth. Some hits him in the face, but most spurts onto his front and arm, turning his glove the colour of old paper. "Aw, man!"

Terra hides her giggles behind her hand. Cyborg just grins.

"You say 'serves you right', Cy, and I may not be held accountable for my actions."

"Just try it, little man." Cyborg pats his left arm, the one that can turn into a sonic blaster and level a whole city block inside thirty seconds.

"You have to go to sleep sometime," Beast Boy warns.

"Technically not. My sensors are always active, even when I'm recharging. Auxiliary power's such a wonderful thing."

Terra holds up her hands. She is sat between them, feet tucked under her body, and takes up the role of referee with the words, "Okay, guys, time to clamp down on that raging machismo and get to eating."

Cyborg grumbles, picking up a bowl and shovelling a mound of salad into it. "Rabbit food," he mutters, liberally dousing it with dressing. "Y'all got any mayo, at least?"

"It was rancid," Beast Boy tells him, and then winces. "Hey, watch it, Terra. You nearly poked my eye out."

"Well stop squirming and I won't. Geez, you're such a wriggler, BB."

Cyborg looks up to see her wiping at Beast Boy's face with a tissue from the box on the table. They were ever-practical-Raven's idea, but Beast Boy actually bought them, which means Police Chief Wiggum is now covered in cola.

Beast Boy scowls. "I'm not a baby, y'know. I _can_ wipe my own face without help."

"Shut up or I'll use spit to clean you off."

He makes a face, but shuts up.

Terra is leaning towards him, concentrating on the task she's set for herself. When she's satisfied she pulls back, wads up the tissue and throws it over her shoulder. It hits the counter with a wet 'splot', proving her remarkable aim true once again. Unless she was aiming for the trash chute, in which case she is way off.

Beast Boy looks down at himself and sighs, but doesn't let that impair his eating. He grabs a bowl and, forgoing both vinegar and dressing, digs in with gusto. Terra watches him for a second, then rolls her eyes and claims the last portion of salad. She eats slowly, chewing each mouthful thoughtfully, a complete antithesis to her habits when she first arrived at the Tower so many months ago. With the precision of a surgeon, she separates whatever grated carrot she finds and places it all in another tissue.

Cyborg picks up the remote and flips on the TV. He channel hops for a while, eventually settling on a juicer commercial. They sit in silence, watching oranges get mashed to pulp while the ruddy-faced actress extols the juicer's virtues over its competitors.

Despite starting after Cyborg, Beast Boy finishes before him. He reclines back and lets out a loud belch, empty bowl balanced precariously on his lap. For a moment Cyborg thinks about telling him to take his dishes to the sink, but then thinks better of it.

Terra finishes last and stacks all three bowls together, setting them on the cushion between herself and Cyborg. The bottles are left on the floor where – hopefully – they won't be knocked over. Then she stretches and kicks off her shoes; one of which goes spinning into the wastebasket. She grins, licking her finger and making a point mark in the air.

The commercials give way to a documentary on dinosaurs. Though not a big fan, Cyborg leaves it on so BB can pick up some new forms, glancing across to make sure he's paying attention to this sacrifice of valuable tube-time.

Terra's palm, fingers splayed wide, is resting on Beast Boy's knee. Other than this they are not paying attention to each other. They are not even sitting very close, and BB's eyes are focussed on the huge screen with nothing short of total fascination. Yet there is something casually possessive about the gesture that pulls the ropes behind Cyborg's face and hoists his eyebrows like a curtain.

He watches for a moment more, then settles back and sips his drink. They watch the rest in companionable silence.

* * *

4. 

Starfire stares at her strawberry milkshake and takes an experimental slurp. This is followed by a smile and another, longer gulp. Her glass is soon laced only with a few residual bits of froth, which she attempts to extract with a finger.

"Hey, Star, go easy! If you like it that much we can always get another one." Beast Boy looks between her and his own drink, then offers it across. "Or you can have mine. Either way's good."

"Many thanks," she enthuses, being careful not to snatch the gift. She has learned that snatching is considered bad mannered here, and so accepts it with the affected grace of an aristocrat. "Is this also that most wonderful shaken sap of the mooing creatures?"

"Uh, no. Orange soda."

Terra's drink makes a loud noise as she finishes. She drags the back of one hand across her mouth and sighs contentedly. "Now that's the kicker. I could go for another one."

"What did you consume, friend Terra?"

Terra gestures lackadaisically at a chalkboard swinging overhead. It moves every time the wind blows, especially when the door to the Bonza Burger restaurant opens and shuts. On it, surrounded by chalk-drawn stick figures with oversized burgers, are the words 'Meta-Hyper-Loco Soda'.

Beast Boy's eyes widen. "Sounds... sugary."

"Yeah, well, if I get a sugar high then I give you full permission to carry me home after I crash. Just remember, anything said while under the influence is to be ignored and never spoken of again. Are we clear?"

"What kind of sugar highs do you get?" Beast Boy asks. "Mine don't usually involve more than bouncing off the walls for a while and then going housecat to sleep in the pot plant."

Terra stretches her arms forward, fingers laced and heels of her hands thrust out. Several digits click and crack, making Beast Boy wince.

"Dude, sick!"

"Hey," says Terra, ignoring him and leaning forward with hands braced against the tabletop, "wanna play a game?"

"What sort of game?" Starfire asks between slurps. The orange soda is depleting at a more sedate pace than her milkshake.

"Imagine This."

"Imagine what?"

"No, no, the game's called Imagine This. I invented it." There is a playful light in her eyes, but she speaks with absolute seriousness.

Beast Boy also leans forward. Starfire wonders if Terra gave some sort of signal. Not wanting to be the odd one out, she leans forward, too, with the result that sticky orange liquid drips out of her cup and onto the table.

"Apologies," she says, reaching for a tissue.

Beast Boy passes a serviette to her from the dispenser behind him. "No biggie, Star. Here." He mops up the spill, still talking. "So what exactly does this game involve, Terra?"

"Nothing much. All you need is your eyes and one other person. You pick somebody off the street, the mall, a store, whatever, and you follow them for fifteen minutes. You have to time yourself to make sure you get the full fifteen, no more or less, and afterwards you have to guess stuff about him or her."

"What kind of stuff?" he asks warily.

Terra laughs. "Nothing illegal, BB. Stuff like... like first names, where they work, and what sort of a day they're having. The point is that you don't have to go sifting through purses or anything. You make it up – pick stuff that's suitable for what you see. It's like... like creating characters for a story."

"I'm not really much of a writer - "

"I think this game sounds most interesting," Starfire puts in. Her grin is wide, and she is pleased that she understands the instructions without need for further explanation. "Are we allowed to ask questions of our, uh, objective?"

"Nu-uh. That's half the fun. Whoever you pick can't know that you're watching them."

Beast Boy still looks dubious, which surprises Starfire. Usually he is all for games. He is, after all, always trying to make her play the strangely named 'Monopoly' – though he has never asked to play football after the last time she consented and literally sent his ball into orbit. Totally by accident, of course.

"Sounds stalkerish to me."

Terra wrinkles her nose. "Geez, BB, I never had you figured for such a killjoy. It's just a bit of fun. Harmless stuff."

A thought strikes Starfire. "But did not Robin and Cyborg tell us to stay here and await their return?"

"Oh, come _on_, they won't be back for ages, yet. One game, that's all I'm asking. Just one, teensy little game, then we can come back and get more milkshakes until Rob and Cy make their dramatic entrance. Please?" Terra bats her eyelashes, making Starfire giggle.

"It does not sound an unpleasant idea. Provided we would be doing nothing wrong. Correct?"

"Would I lead you guys astray? How about it, BB?"

Beast Boy sighs. "I never thought I'd have to say it, but I guess I'll go to keep an eye on you two." He recoils. "Ugh, now I feel dirty all over."

They leave Bonza Burger and enter the hustle and bustle of Saturday afternoon at Jump City Mall. Jump isn't a huge place, but the mall has all the requisites: a Barnes and Noble, a huge music store, competing fast food chains, and no fewer than three Starbucks outposts.

Starfire deposits her empty cup in a trashcan outside a small store called Piggly Wiggly's and briefly wonders why people insist on staring at them. Are they not out of uniform? The attire Terra tagged as 'casual' mostly matches the clothing stores they pass, and yet still passers-by turn to look as they make their way to the fountain in the mall's centre. Really, humans are very curious creatures.

Both she and Beast Boy wait perched on the wall of the fountain, as Terra surveys the area. She is the old hand, after all. Eventually she picks out a woman in a lime green skirt and silk blouse, who has just flapped out of Auntie Anne's with a soft pretzel. She carries it in a little white paper bag, stopping a moment to pull at the back of one flat-soled sandal. She looks to be in her late thirties – early-forties at a push.

"There," Terra whispers. "That woman by the elevator."

Starfire can see nothing remarkable about this woman, but attributes it to her limited contact with Earth culture. She is surprised when Terra yanks on her arm and pretends to be deep in conversation as the woman passes – especially since all Terra says is "Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb," over and over.

"Lets the games begin."

They follow their target into a video store, where they overhear her ask the clerk if her order has arrived yet. It hasn't, but Beast Boy tells them it was a DVD of _Sleepless in Seattle._ She passes a Starbucks, pauses, and goes back. She orders an Arabian Mocha Java and sips at it the rest of the walk to Sears. There she dumps it, half-finished, into a trash can.

Once inside she goes straight to lingerie and begins flipping through singlets, then ducks into the children's section. She wanders about, touching tiny nightclothes with a fingertip. She lifts a baby's romper suit from its hook and presses it to her cheek, then puts it back almost guiltily. She is just rounding the corner to bedclothes when the time runs out.

Starfire, Terra and Beast Boy are lurking behind a rack or frilly somethings when Terra says, "Okay, aaaaand we're done."

"Can we go someplace else now?" Beast Boy solicits, brushing the unclipped strap of a bra off his shoulder. He wears an odd expression, as if he might have liked being here had the circumstances and company been different, but it is swathed in such acute embarrassment that this conclusion might be wrong. "Please?"

They confer on a bench outside.

"So, what do you think?" Terra asks, slapping her palms together and rubbing.

"I think I feel like a stalker."

She gently thwaps Beast Boy upside the head. "But a good stalker."

"Is there such a thing as a good stalker?"

"Yes. Us. Now, what do you think? Actually, no, I'll ask Star first. She's much more sensible than you."

Starfire blinks. "Er..."

Beast Boy picks at a piece of lint on his jacket. He seems uncomfortable in his clothes, and after a moment he stands up and removes the jacket, knotting the arms around his waist. "How about we make Terra go first?"

Starfire nods. "Yes, that seems a most appropriate idea."

Terra sighs. She points at Beast Boy's jacket. "Very mid-nineties. Okay, so... I reckon she's unmarried. No wedding ring, and no marks on her finger like she's ever had one. But I think she'd _like_ to be married, or at least have a kid. A girl. Since she used to be a hippy when she was a teenager, the tot would be called something like Serenity, or Leaf. She's a bit of a spendthrift, but she does it to cover up her loneliness – using material goods to replace actual human contact. And she tries to eat a lot of low-fat foods, ignoring those times she slips up because she was feeling down so they 'don't count'."

Starfire boggles. "How do you know this information, friend Terra?"

"I don't. I'm guessing. That's what makes it fun."

Beast Boy rubs his chin with a knuckle. "So if I said she works in an office, and would be higher up if she weren't crushing on her boss and turning down promotions so as to be close to him, that's part of the game?"

"Exactly."

"Right. I think I get it now."

They both look at Starfire, who fumbles. "Uh, I... think she has a cat?"

Terra nods. "As a substitute child. Yeah, that fits."

"And she goes home to her apartment every night and tells it about her day, and what her boss said to her in the elevator on the way to the parking lot," Beast Boy adds.

"A loft apartment," Terra corrects.

"Sure, a loft apartment sounds good. With lots of storage space for brightly coloured clothes."

"And a wardrobe of drab stuff she wears to work."

"Reckon she has a separate closet for the hippy outfits she wore as a teen?"

Terra shrugs. "It's entirely possible. See, now you're getting into it." Her smile is wide and genuine. It makes Starfire feel happy to see her happy. There is something infectious about genuine happiness, and she wonders why humans find it so difficult to understand this. Only such a confusing race would have created the Duchene's Smile. It is one of the things that makes her wonder if she will ever truly fit in here.

"So, what about her name?"

"I did not see anything that would denote an appellation," Starfire begins. "My eyesight is superior to that of the average human, but perhaps Beast Boy saw - "

"So we'll make one up," Terra interrupts. "What did she _look_ like?"

"Look like? Well, her skin pigmentation is the pale pink that Earthlings designate as Caucasian, and from the roots, her hair reaches approximately thirty centimetres in a vertical gradient - "

Terra shakes her head. "No, no, I mean, what sort of name does she suit? Does she look like a Susan, or a Betty, or a Jennifer? That sort of thing. Or something else, maybe. What sort of name does she deserve, based on what we just said about her?"

Beast Boy considers for a moment. "I think she looked like a Rosemary."

"Really?" Terra puckers her lips a little, as if testing the name out in her head. "I thought she seemed more of a Tanya. Tanya Willoughby."

"I agree with the Willoughby part, but she still looked like a Rosemary to me. Star, what do you think?"

Starfire looks at her hands. "On Tamaran, when offspring reach the end of their first sun-cycle, they are presented to the elders for Glubarkh – I believe the best translation for this is 'identification ritual'. For the duration of their first sun-cycle, all young Tamaraneans are referred to as Ju'barji, which means simply 'youngest' or 'smallest'. But after Glubarkh, they are given an individual name based on the conduct observed in them during their time as Ju'barji. This game employs much the same directive, correct?"

"I... guess so," Terra allows. "But it's not really as serious as... as a glue bark, or an onion bahji."

Her accent is terrible, but where it should annoy Starfire it only makes her giggle. None of the Titans can really pronounce the common Tamaranean tongue, but she has come to view this as a charm that endears them to her. Now Terra also comes under this heading, and for some reason this pleases her more than it should.

"I cannot make use of such things as were available to the elders, but in honour of her loneliness and longing for children, I would call this woman B'ambu."

For a moment there is silence. Terra and Beast Boy exchange glances, and then Beast Boy carefully says, "That's... a real pretty name, Star."

"Oh no," Starfire shakes her head vehemently, "it is not meant to be pretty. It is intended as an ode to her sorrow."

"Right," says Terra. "Right. Yeah. Sure, she can be called that. B'ambu Willoughby."

Beast Boy nods. "I like it. B'ambu Willoughby and her cat, Freckles."

One corner of Terra's mouth lifts. "Since when was her cat called that?"

"Since now. And since I've always thought Freckles was a good name for a cat."

Terra laughs. Starfire's heart swells, and she giggles again. Beast Boy just smiles, but it's obvious he's seconds away from also laughing. He may even have thrown back his head and done so, had the pocket of his jacket not beeped loudly.

"Aw, hell," he mutters, scrabbling for his communicator. It takes three more beeps for him to find and open it, during which Terra and Starfire have unclipped theirs from their belts.

"Hey, Robin. What's the four-one-one?" Terra asks.

The grainy quality of the picture doesn't hide Robin's frown. "Trouble. We've got a hostage situation going down at the bank on Maple Avenue."

"And you want us to cover your backs?"

"No, we want y'all to come down here and kick their butts into next week," Cyborg says from the background. They can't see him, but he sounds fractious. "Damn creeps knocked out my infrared eyeball. Do they know how much it costs to fix this hardware?"

"Save it, Cy," Robin snaps, all business. "Guys, get down here right now. We have a dozen itchy trigger fingers, three downed security guards, and I have a tourniquet around a bullet hole in my leg. I've already called Raven, but the mall's closer than the Tower. Rendezvous with her behind the squad cars outside before trying anything. She's gonna have to shield these people with her telekinesis while you play cavalry, because the bullets will sure as hell be flying. Robin out."

A coldness washes through Starfire. She is the first to her feet, ignoring the looks of mall-walkers as she rises into the air and reaches for Terra and Beast Boy. "We must hurry. The situation is most grievous."

"I hear that," Terra sighs. "Once more unto the breach, dear friends."

* * *

5. 

Terra walks down a street that borders the bad part of town. When she first got to Jump, she'd been a little surprised that it was big enough to _have_ a bad part of town, but it does, and the dividing line between it and the 'good' side is a deserving shade of grey. Grey sidewalk, grey buildings, grey manhole covers – she watches a grey sedan with blacked out windows cruise past and turn the corner. It's like an unspoken thing – thou shalt not be any bright colour, lest ye be noticeable to cops and superheroes.

She hopes her grey slacks, hiking boots and dark jacket help her blend in some. She's even tied up her hair to make herself less recognisable. Her face feels naked and too bare without a veil of blone to hide behind.

She'd be lying if she said she doesn't know why she's walking here. She doesn't know anybody in the area, and she's actually busted up a few incidents just south of the river, in the docklands where the drug rings like to play. This is more Robin's kind of place, like his home turf of Gothem. An air of sickliness, of desperation clings to the walls, as does a sense of rot and decay. Yet it appeals to Terra. Sometimes, like now, she doesn't want to see the bright and shiny surface of the city. She needs to be reminded of the grimy parts, the unsavoury bits, the raw hurt of humanity in a self-created, self-destructive low. She needs to see what goes on underneath.

Incongruously, there is a schoolyard filled with kids laughing and playing just up ahead. It's ringed by high fencing with a topping of barbwire. Terra goes to stand outside it, hooking her fingertips through the mesh and looking in.

Grade school. A bunch of kids are playing soccer, zigzagging across the asphalt and yelling. One or two attempt a game of hopscotch, but the soccer players keep running over the chalk lines and scuffing them out. Most of the girls sit at the edges, on walls and the odd bollard. They talk and giggle and whisper secrets, sticking out their tongues at any boys who come too close. In the corner stands a teacher nursing a chipped mug and occasionally yelling something at the kids she's supposed to be watching.

Terra wonders about her own education. She can read and write and do long multiplication. She can remember interesting factoids about Aztec burial rituals and how the American West came to be. She can even recite bits of Shakespeare and Poe, leftover from an eight-month period she spent living in a library basement. There, she'd gobbled up all the books she could find on rock formation, tectonic plates and how the earth worked beneath the surface.

Everything is always under the surface with her.

She wanders away, moving a smidge further from the bad side, back into the light.

She suddenly realises that she is thirsty. She left this morning before anyone was up, and has been pattering around the city on foot ever since. Her communicator is still on her bedside table, since she awoke with an indescribable urge to spend a day as an ordinary person, and not as a Titan. Six and a half months into her tenure on the team, she thinks she is owed at least one day off and to herself.

Eventually she turns onto a street with more colour and finds an open coffee house decorated like the Left Bank in Paris. She strolls in, feeling in her pocket for a few coins. She sits down and orders a cappuccino, pausing only a second before deciding on a pastry as well. It's been hours since her lunch of Taco Bell burrito washed down with diet coke.

As she sips and eats she wonders what kind of day the other Titans have had. She supposes she should have left more notification than she did: a post-it stuck to the fridge that read 'Gone out. Be back this evening. Terra.' But things have been quiet lately, and she assures herself that if anything really serious had come up, they would have found a way to contact her. They're resourceful that way.

She hopes she will not go home to find another message on her laptop. He-who-must-be-obeyed hated to be kept waiting. And she'd been too tired to reply when he contacted her last night. She already knows she's in for an earful when she finally _does_ get back to him, so she's in no hurry to hasten that along.

She finishes her pastry, licks her fingers, and thinks about getting another. The waitress isn't looking, so she gets up and orders one at the counter.

It's not long to closing, so they only have the cream-filled kind left. She is surprised at the time, but tells them that will be fine. She's not a huge fan of cream, but she's hungrier than she thought. Once back at her table she bites into it with gusto.

"You may want to slow down," says a voice. "Otherwise you'll get indigestion."

Terra chokes for a second, surprised at being addressed. After swallowing and clearing her throat with hot, sweet liquid, she traces the owner to the table behind her. They are practically sitting back to back, and the stranger makes no move to turn around. For this reason, Terra also stays facing forward, respecting the modicum of privacy.

"Are you talking to me?"

The stranger laughs. It's a flutey sound. She is wearing a hoodie pulled up around her head and face, and when she reaches for her teacup the sleeves stretch over most of her hands. Terra sees all this in an overhead mirror. The coffee house is full of them, sprinkled across the ceiling. It seems to be a theme, a motif, and by tilting her chin a little it is almost like she is floating above their tables, looking down.

The stranger is a slender thing, clothing hanging shapeless and baggy, but not enough to hide it. Obviously female, with an aristocratic bearing and artist's hands. These hands curl around her teacup, almost as delicate as it is, and lift it with a grace that seems very out of place next to Terra's hungry munching. She also seems to carry her own wind-chill factor with her, as is evidenced by her husky voice when it comes again. It sounds like dried grass in a Winter breeze.

"Isn't this district a little lowbrow for you?"

Terra considers. It's not like she wears a mask or anything, like Robin, so a hair-tie and casual-wear wasn't going to work forever. Maybe she should have got a pair of glasses. It's amazing the change in a face with just the addition of glasses. "Hey, needs must when the devil drives," she says, noncommittal. No point in letting on who she is if the question was just a reference to the cleanliness of her clothes.

"Indeed."

Silence. Terra goes back to her pastry.

"You know, there's a saying," the stranger says in a voice as soft as falling snow. "Stick with your own people."

Terra feels the muscles in her stomach squeeze. "Excuse me?"

"People are such strange creatures, though," the stranger goes on, as if not hearing the response. "The saying never tells you how to tell which are your own. Or even if you have your own kind. Maybe people aren't meant to stick together. Maybe they're meant to be solitary, only coming together in the face of adversity or common interest. Ever think about that?"

Terra swallows. "Can't say that I have."

"You should. The study of the human condition is a fascinating subject." There's a pause as she sips her tea. Terra is struck by the delicacy of the movement. She watches, intrigued and vaguely uneasy, as the warm brown liquid disappears from the cup, past unseen lips. Or perhaps it's not warm. Perhaps it's stone cold.

"Um, do I know you?"

A slow, lingering chuckle traces a path between them. "No. But I think everyone knows _you_."

Ah. So, she's been spotted. Terra shakes her head. "Right."

More silence. Her teacup drained, the stranger gets up to leave and pays her order at the counter.

Her respite spoiled, and fearing she is about to be asked for an autograph – which isn't as fun as it sounds after the first thousand or so - Terra is about to excuse herself when the stranger brushes past her table on the way to the door.

"There are no good guys." Another slow chuckle. "Or perhaps I should say that there are no bad guys, which means the same but sounds substantially less cynical. No, there are no bad guys, because every criminal and lawbreaker has some reason and misunderstanding in his or her mind that makes whatever he or she does acceptable. And those that have no reasons have no conscience. Which is its own misery, I suppose. As for the heroes... well, they do what they can. But there are still no good guys, because the heroes have as much going on in their heads as the villains – perhaps, I would hazard, even more..." She is still talking as the bell above the door jingles, but the rest is lost behind glass.

Terra remembers being stung by a scorpion when she was four. The details are a little hazy, her memory – like everyone's – a patchwork that far back. All she really has are a flutter of impressions – something chocolate-coloured falling off her hand, the sensation of white-heat reaching up her arm, grabbing the inside of her shoulder, and then her centre of gravity shifting. But more than that, she remembers the suddenness of the attack – one moment she was talking, the next she was on the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

She feels like that now, the stranger's words as quick and effective as a scorpion's sting.

She shoots to her feet, half-eaten pastry forgotten, and throws a handful of coins onto the table. It's too much, but she doesn't wait for her change, instead dashing out into the street. She falls through the door like cereal from a box and looks around for the stranger's blue hoodie and black skirt.

But there is no-one. The street is long and echoing and empty.

For some reason, Terra feels cheated at this. At the back of her brain lurks darkness that quivers and pokes, like scorpion poison just waiting to loose itself on her. She spends a few minutes running back and forth, checking in alleyways and around both intersections, but there really is nobody. No cars, no people – the best she gets is a stray grey cat that hisses through broken teeth and then leaps from its trashcan to a twisted wreck of a fire escape. Terra watches it watching her for a second, and then spins on her heel.

She decides to go home. The wanderlust that gripped her this morning has faded, and now she wants nothing more than to go back to the Tower, shower, snuggle on the couch and eat microwave popcorn with her friends.

But she thinks she'll leave checking her laptop until later.

Much later.

She is so intent on these thoughts that she completely misses the face peering down at her from the rooftop above the coffee house. A stiff breeze plucks at the hoodie, pulling it down, and if anyone had thought to look up they would have seen a waft of pink hair melting into the grey shadows.

And maybe even a smile.

* * *

FINIS.

* * *


End file.
